


The Entirety of Hogwarts Gets Really Drunk

by Raddaya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 02:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17541116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raddaya/pseuds/Raddaya
Summary: Dumbledore vanquishes Voldemort. The residents of Hogwarts celebrate.





	The Entirety of Hogwarts Gets Really Drunk

_Disclaimer: Don’t drink underage, kids. Also, for those who are super duper concerned about canon in semi-crackfics, consider this an AU diverging near the end of Half-Blood Prince. Or something._

 

“I still can’t believe it, mate,” said Ron, shaking his head. “That duel...I mean, what’s the point of normal blokes like us? Dumbledore could’ve wiped the floor with us dueling with his bloody bollo-”

 

“Yes, Mr. Weasley, I will be delighted to hear your analysis of the Headmaster’s skill with his various body parts in the future, but for now I must ask that you and Mr. Potter accompany me to the Hospital Wing,” cut in Professor McGonagall. Despite nearly losing one and a half legs in the battle, the Transfiguration master was still calm. She _had_ muttered “Sod off, you bastard” after Voldemort had fallen, but that was perfectly excusable under the circumstances.

 

Harry was too exhausted to speak. He had done little more than to spectate most of the duel and cast the final, prophesied curse to end the life of Riddle, but that little more had been enough to deflect at least a hundred curses in the space of two minutes - Dumbledore had gone for the kill, and had not worried about collateral damage. He had trusted to Hogwarts to keep her students safe, and she had. Unfortunately, Hogwarts could not perfectly protect her students from themselves, as future events revealed.

 

* * *

 

“Ron, I’m not sure we should be doing this in the Hospital Wing,” protested Hermione.

 

“That’s what she said,” muttered Harry, under his breath. Thankfully, neither Hermione nor Ron heard him, but Ginny did, and winked back.

 

“Come on, Hermione, even Madam Pomfrey’s shitfaced over there,” said Ron, reasonably, pointing to where Pomfrey was giggling wildly at the jokes of various seventh-years.

 

Hermione bit her lip. “Oh, alright,” she muttered, and took a swig of Firewhisky. She proceeded to spit most of it out, but it was the thought that counted.

 

“Ah, it takes some getting used to,” said Ginny, patting her on the back. She proceeded to take a much more practiced swig.

 

“...did you _actually_ smuggle in Firewhisky whenever you won a Quidditch match? I heard the rumours, but I never really believed them,” said Hermione, settling into her couch.

 

“Of course we did,” said Harry, laughing. “How do you think Ginny got the courage to ask me out?” This earned him a glare from Ginny, but it soon evaporated into general laughter.

 

“Good old Hermione,” said Ron, whose appetite for alcohol was no less than that for food. He took another swig before saying, “Knows the library inside out, but wouldn’t know where to go for tequila for her life.”

 

“Well, you know how my parents are,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes at Ron. She took a small, but mostly acceptable swig before continuing, “What was that about tequila? I didn’t realise- I mean, it’s a muggle drink...”

 

“Eh? No it’s not, Fred and George always get it from Hogsmeade,” said Ginny.

 

“I mean, Dad’s always going on about muggle whisky, so I can’t imagine alcohol’s too different,” suggested Ron.

 

“I’ve _had_ muggle whisky,” said Harry, dryly. “I’ve had muggle beer, too. Trust me, wizards do it better.” He looked down at the bottle. “Damn it, Ron, how the hell did you finish this already?”

 

“Actually, that’s my fault,” said Ginny, who did not appear to be inebriated in the slightest. This was not surprising if you knew about the goings-on in the common room after Quidditch victories. She grinned at Harry and said, “For once, Fred, George and Wood aren’t hogging all the drinks, so I might have had a little more.”

 

“At least you people didn’t pressure me into drinking too much,” said Hermione, but her tone came out more disappointed than relieved.

 

“Did you honestly think that was the only booze we had?” said Harry and Ginny, almost simultaneously, while Ron could only struggle to control his laughter. “Besides, there’s literally a mountain of drinks in the Great Hall. Didn’t you hear Padma and Lavender talking about it?”

 

It took them a few tries, but between the four of them they managed to summon enough alcohol to satisfy even Ginny. There was wizarding tequila, Firewhisky, some gin(which Harry strongly suspected was courtesy Dumbledore), and even some magical vodka, which the Durmstrang fighters must have brought along.

 

Hermione had clearly watched more American high-school movies than Harry had even heard of, because the first thing she did was procure salt and lime from somewhere and say, “Cheers, boys,” before downing a shot of tequila, to general applause. It took much more encouragement and peer pressure to convince her to try a second shot - especially as Ginny refused to apply a Numbing Charm on her throat- but after that, it was all golden.

 

“...So Lavender told me that Padma told her that Pansy told her that Astoria had a crush on Neville,” rattled off Hermione, somehow breathless and giggling at the same time, “And I didn’t tell her anything, because you know how Lavender is, she’d spread it round the school in a day, and you know Astoria’s not that bad for a Slytherin really, and it was rude to Neville too and it’s just not nice, but Daphne had been bullying me all day in Potions so I really just wanted to tell her that just because Neville’s into Mimbulus Mimbletonias doesn’t mean he loves Stinksap!” She finished, cackling madly.

 

Harry looked at Ron, wide-eyed. “D...d’you reckon they still have sobering potions around here somewhere?”

 

“Ah, lay off it,” said Ginny, by now lying comfortably on Harry’s chest. “This is the most entertaining she’ll ever be! Besides, she’s loving it, see?” She pointed at Hermione who was trying, and failing, to open the bottle of gin.

 

“Nonononononono,” said Harry, pushing Ginny off of him. “We all love you, Hermione-”

 

“Some of us more than others,” added Ron.

 

“-but I’ve seen fucking _Dumbledore_ on this gin, and there’s no way we’re letting you drink it the way you are now.”

 

“Honestly, Harry,” scoffed Hermione. “I’m fine...oops!” She said, knocking over a pile of Butterbeer bottles.

 

“Ginny-” started Harry, but the redhead had already pushed another glass of Firewhisky ( _Did Ginny just silently conjure a glass after downing a bottle and a half of Firewhisky?_ , wondered Harry) to Hermione.

 

“Thanks, Gin...ha, ha, gin,” giggled Hermione. “I’d say I’d be happy to drink you, but that might make Harry jealous.” She proceeded to down almost half the glass in two gulps.

 

Ron glared at Ginny, who took one look at Harry’s expression and collapsed on the floor, laughing helplessly.

 

Ron sighed and turned to Harry. “Well, mate, there’s only one thing to be done in a situation like this.”

 

Harry was too stunned to respond for a few seconds, but he eventually managed to stammer “...Which is?”

 

“Not be the most sober person in the room,” said Ron, and downed a double shot of vodka.

 

Harry continued to blink at nothing in particular for the next few seconds, before diving for the closest bottle of liquor he could find.

 

A long drink later, he felt qualified to rejoin the discussion. He was wrong.

 

“...of Requirement? It’ll be full to bits today,” Ron was saying, patiently. “I mean, didn’t you hear those Ravenclaws talking about the threesome they were planning there? Besides,” he said, leaning in closer to Hermione so nobody could hear(or so he thought), “I want our first time to be sober, or I’ll feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

 

The ensuing kiss and makeout session(preceded by Hermione breathing, “Oh, Ron, that is so adorable!”) forced Harry to take yet another long drink before he felt he could stomach it. When he decided to resurface, he found that Ginny had cooled down the situation somewhat with a hex, much to Ron’s displeasure.

 

“Oy, I don’t hex you two when you’re...y’know, talking about Quidditch,” muttered Ron, annoyed. Hermione promptly collapsed on the floor, giggling and repeating “Talking about Quidditch!” several times.

 

Harry decided that it was past his turn for a witty rejoinder. “Well, we don’t hex you two when you’re arguing, either, so I think we all agree foreplay is fine...”

 

“But that was going a little far,” agreed Ginny. “Oh, hey Neville,” she added, as Neville ran in at breakneck speed, slipped on an empty bottle of vodka, and nearly broke his neck falling. “You’ll never guess what Hermione to-AAARGH!” she finished, as it turned out that even a drunk, rolling-on-the-floor laughing Hermione could draw and fire a stinging hex in less than half a second.

 

“GUYS!” said Neville, still on the floor, ignoring their comments and the general cries of “You alright?” He looked almost as drunk as Madam Pomfrey, which at that point of the night was really, really saying something. “YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL IS DOING!” was what he tried to say, but due to his advanced state of intoxication, he instead yelled something more similar to “NEVER GASS WHA PROFFSR MGNNNN’S DOIN!” before trying to get up, and failing, twice.

 

“...What?” said Hermione, sobered somewhat by Neville’s sheer drunkenness.

 

“He said we’d never guess what Professor McGonagall was doing,” explained Ron, who was well versed in the ancient language of Drunk-Off-Your-Arse.

 

“Uh, Neville? You alright?” said Harry, prodding him with his foot.

 

“Wha? No I’m fiiiiBLUAAAAARGH,” tried Neville before vomiting all over the floor.

 

“ _Scourgify_ ,” said Ginny, who was somehow _still_ sober enough to get the spell working perfectly first try. Later, Harry would claim that was the moment when he first started really falling in love with her. “I think he _does_ need a sobering potion,” she said. “Uh...I’m not sure where Pomfrey keeps them...”

 

“Here you go,” said Ron, offering a bottle.

 

“This is an empty bottle of Skele-Gro, Ron.”

 

“Oh, really? I could’ve sworn...” Ron turned around, glaring at Hermione, who promptly went on yet another giggling fit. “I swear I’m sticking the next bottle up your arse,” he muttered, summoning the Switched bottle.

 

“Now what makes you think I’d mind that?” said Hermione, in what she thought was under her breath but in reality was really, really, not.

 

As Harry took yet another giant drink, Ginny administered the Sobering potion to Neville with practiced dexterity.

 

“Oh, Merlin, thanks, Ginny,” said Neville, coughing. “Right...like I was saying, McGonagall didn’t say anything about...y’know,” he continued, pointing at the bottles strewn everywhere. “She’s only stopping third years and below from drinking, and she’s even supplying _them_ with butterbeer! Can you believe it? McGonagall’s encouraging us all to get shitfaced!”

 

This was met by a grand lack of surprise from everyone else present.

 

“Neville, you do realise that, firstly, _Voldemort just fucking died,_ and secondly, she’s Scottish,” Harry said, flatly.

 

“Also, Neville, I think you’ve had enough. Even with that potion,” suggested Ginny.

 

Neville paled. When Ginny Weasley told you that you had had enough to drink, it generally narrowly precluded unconsciousness or death from alcohol poisoning. And while the Sobering potion helped somewhat with the hangover the following day, it did not negate it completely.

 

“Are you...yeah, I think I’m just going to eat some kebabs and go to sleep.”

 

“Sounds like a solid plan, Neville,” said Ron, just as Hermione asked, “Ooh, who with?”

 

“Now, now,” said Neville. “A gentleman does not shag and tell.” With these revealing words, he left the Hospital wing.

 

“Are you sure Hermione hasn’t had too much, Ginny?” asked Ron, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

 

“No. I only said that to Neville so that he wouldn’t end up suffering from whisky dick, you tactless buffoon.”

 

“God, I love how you’re so thoughtful,” said Harry, hugging her to himself with the hand that didn’t have a bottle in it. Ron, meanwhile, decided to take his own advice some more. Unfortunately, just as he raised a bottle to his mouth, it was knocked over by Hermione getting up, enraged.

 

“What — the — _fuck_ — are you doing here, you piece of Death Eater-” she began, whipping her wand out and aiming it directly at the surprisingly sober Draco Malfoy, who had just entered the Wing.

 

“Whoa, Hermione, calm the fuck-” tried Harry.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me to calm down when that bastard comes in here all-”

 

“HERMIONE!” bellowed Ron. “Draco’s on our side, didn’t you hear?! He saved my life, and that was _after_ I hexed him in the bollocks. Y’know, right after I got hexed there myself near the kitchens.”

 

“I mean, I’m the last person to say this, but yeah, give him a break,” said Ginny. “He helped get some of the younger students to safety, too. Luna’s only alive because of him.”

 

All four of them looked at Draco, who seemed to be too stunned to know how to react. He eventually said, stammering in a very un-Draco-like manner, “I just came here to ch-check on Pansy. I don’t suppose you-”

 

“All the wounded were sent to St Mungo’s after triage,” cut in Ginny. “Dumbledore said something about wanting to let Pomfrey celebrate for once.”

 

“Oh,” said Draco. “Thanks, Weas- I mean, Ginny.” There was another awkward silence before he nodded and turned to leave.

 

“Wait,” said Hermione, a little more loudly than strictly necessary. She held up a bottle of rum and said, “We should have a drink together. Later, I mean. After you go to St Mungo’s.”

 

Draco turned back, and if anyone watching him had been even slightly sober, they would have noticed the astonished look on his face for the half-second before it switched to a sad smile. “If you ask me that when you’re sober, Hermione, I might take you up on it,” he said, before leaving the Wing.

 

“...the fuck did he mean by that?” asked a very confused Ron.

 

“I’ll explain to you once you explain to _me_ why you didn’t tell me you got hexed,” replied Hermione, glaring at him.

 

“Yeah, Ron, you know she’s got a vested interest in your bollocks,” added Harry, smirking.

 

“Honestly, with all the shit going on, I forgot that happened. Hey, talking of bollocks, you know what McGonagall said about Dumbledore’s?”

 

“She WHAT?” shrieked Ginny, spilling half a glass of Firewhisky on her shirt.

 

* * *

 

 

Severus Snape, too, was drinking in his office. Unlike every other reveller, however, he was drinking alone. His hand almost shook as he lifted his glass - he did not feel like using his wand- and sipped from it and put it back on the table. He left it there as if considering for several seconds, before grabbing it again and drinking another sizeable gulp.

 

The Dark Lord was dead. Lily had been avenged, and he himself had exceeded Dumbledore’s wildest expectations. His potion had practically crippled Voldemort, drawing out the weakness of his tattered soul into his body and magic. Even then he had fought fiercely. Had he been at his full strength, Hogwarts would have fallen a hundred times over. But he hadn’t been. And Dumbledore had.

 

He ought to be a hero, he knew. Revered as a genius Potionmaster, as a brave spy. But that could never come to pass. Horcruxes could never be revealed to the populace. People would already suspect. If his potion had left any residue...but it had not. He was too good of a Potionmaster. Too good of a spy. And yet all he would be remembered as would be a sad, angry old man, lamenting after another man’s woman, still hating her son.

 

He resisted the urge to throw his drink into the fireplace, just as there was a knock on his door. There was only one person who would disturb him, at this time. Dumbledore.

 

“Headmaster?” he asked, trying to control his temper. “Do you require-” He cut himself short as he saw who was next to Albus. “It isn’t the full moon for a week,” he said through his teeth at Remus Lupin.

 

“That is not why he is here, Severus,” said Dumbledore. Was that _pity_ in his eyes? “It is my opinion that the two of you should...talk, for a while. I do not think either of you would want to join the rest of the adults, or the students.”

 

Talk? To one of his childhood bullies, or at least, their enabler? Fury rose inside him, and as always, he controlled it. “What is there for us to talk about?” Perhaps his control was not as fine as it usually was, given the circumstances and the drink.

 

“More than you would think,” said the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Then he shut the door and left the two of them in the room together.

 

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Then Lupin sighed. “Albus told me what you did, to hurt and finish off Voldemort.”

 

“Do not speak hi-” said Snape, reflexively, before catching himself. His rage only grew further at his mistake. He was not in the mood for more pity. Not from Remus Lupin. “And?”

 

“And I think it was an exemplary piece of Potions work worthy of you,” he replied, mildly. “May I?” he asked, pointing to Snape’s whisky.

 

He nodded, stiffly. If they must converse, more alcohol was a necessity. Unless it led to a duel. But he was willing to take that risk.

 

Lupin poured generous measures for each of them. They sipped for some time. Snape still could not really understand why Lupin was here. But he suspected. The problem was...he almost felt thankful. And he wanted to hate himself for it.

 

As if on cue, Lupin put down his drink and stared into Snape’s eyes. Snape met them, and saw the regret in them. And he did not like it.

 

“It’s not me who should be saying this,” began Lupin. “But all the others who could are dead, or Dumbledore.”

 

Snape said nothing. He waited for the words to come. He knew what they would be.

 

“Lily wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”

 

And there it was. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse Lupin. He wanted to curse James Potter. He wanted to rip the very fabric of reality apart so that he had never said that word to her.

 

Instead he said, in a voice so soft that even Lupin’s ears could barely hear it, “I know.”

 

Lupin raised an eyebrow. “Do you believe you are past redemption?”

 

“Do you not?” shot back Snape.

 

Lupin laughed. Snape watched in surprise turning to shock, as the werewolf all but howled right there.

 

“God, Severus,” he said, catching his breath, finally. “I’m sorry, I really am, but _honestly_? In some ways you really are sixteen still, aren’t you?”

 

Snape was too curious even to curse Lupin. He merely glared and waited for Lupin to continue.

 

“You, of all people, know what James was like in school,” said Lupin, staring. “And now he’s seen as a hero, and he became Lily’s husband. Do you really think that’s because everyone just...forgot?”

 

“That’s because his son became the Boy-Who-Lived!” spat Snape.

 

“And Lily could see the future? Or just went and decided to marry an - in her words - arrogant toerag? Or what do you think, he slipped her Amortentia? Lily Evans, almost as good at Potions as you?”

 

“I DON’T KNOW!” roared Snape. He realised he had stood up. Lupin had not. He looked sad again, he realised.

 

“Do you really think James didn’t change, Severus?” asked Lupin. “Do you really think Harry is James?”

 

Snape’s lips twitched and nearly revealed a sardonic smile. “Getting his redhaired girlfriend drunk so that he can sleep with her?”

 

Lupin all but rolled his eyes. “You and I both know Lily could drink James under the table, and from what I’ve heard, history repeats itself.” He considered for a while, before saying, worriedly, “Sirius _did_ teach him the Contraceptive Charm, did he not?”

 

“I sincerely hope Molly taught her children at least, considering the...magnitude of her family,” replied Snape.

 

Lupin gave a short, loud, laugh. “This is what I mean, Severus,” he said, chortling. “You’re actually funny sometimes. Do you always have to make jokes that insult others? I doubt it.”

 

“Am I to assume you want me to pursue a career in...what do the Muggles call it? Stand-up comedy?”

 

Lupin laughed again. “You’re just like Sirius, you know?”

 

“You go too far!” protested Snape, but even he was smiling by then. It would not have been a pretty sight, but for the fact that for the first time in years, it was a genuine smile.

 

“So you’re twenty years older than James was,” continued Lupin. “So what? You can change, too. Let this side of you out. Stop being so damn _shit_ to your students that Neville Longbottom had you as his Boggart.”

 

Snape winced as he took a large sip. He had nearly forgotten about the incident, which was almost worse than it in the first place. “So what exactly is your plan? I should proceed to go around beaming and throwing around Felix Felicis and making people wonder who decided to impersonate me?”

 

Lupin shrugged. “Use Voldemort’s fall as an excuse. Hell, spread a rumour that he cursed you into being a prick. After the curse on the Defence position and everything that happened today, they’ll probably buy it.” He took another long drink. “Get laid. Get a hobby, for heaven’s sake. And please, _please_ , use some hair potion, or get a haircut, or both.”

 

Snape protested, “Lily said I looked good with long hair!”

 

“Those were the _seventies_ , Severus,” said Lupin, shuddering. “Remember Lucius with a mullet?”

 

Snape nearly spat out his drink. “His _face_ when he learned it was a Muggle music trend!”

 

“The only good thing to come out of that,” agreed Lupin.

 

Snape’s lips twitched. “I wouldn’t be so sure, I’ve always suspected the sight of Lucius then was what caused Emma to realise which side of the Quidditch pitch she preferred...”

 

Lupin took a second to get the joke, then guffawed so hard he nearly choked. A quick _Anapneo_ later, he asked, “What happened to him anyway? Lucius, I mean?”

 

“Hid in his manor. Let his son fight for him. Useless, insufferable coward...”

 

“Merlin, I hope I’d be a better father than that,” said Lupin.

 

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Forgot the charm yourself with Tonks?”

 

Lupin rolled his eyes. “You know I’m too old for her.”

 

It was Snape’s turn to stare. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

 

Lupin smiled weakly. “I’m a werewolf. She’s an Auror. She deserves someone...”

 

“...young and whole? That old shtick again? You’re a war hero, for God’s sake! And don’t tell me you’re not attracted to her, you think I’m blind?” spat Snape.

 

Lupin shook his head. “I’d only be taking advantage of an infatuation, and...”

 

“ _Her Patronus changed for you, you dunderhead!_ I would know something about that, don’t you think?”

 

Lupin gaped. “You mean...your Patronus...it was a doe! I never realised...”

 

“There’s a reason I avoided casting it,” said Snape, bitterly. Then his tone changed as he continued, “And if you don’t ask that woman out tomorrow, I swear I’ll tell Harry.”

 

Lupin stared in horror. “You wouldn’t!”

 

“I would.”

 

They stared at each other for some time.

 

“Well,” said an ashen-faced Lupin, pouring himself another drink, “fine, on the condition that you try to stop being an arsehole from now.”

 

Snape inclined his head. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

They clinked glasses.  



End file.
